Healing
by FreeSmiles
Summary: Ariadne is struggling to recover from the Inception. Arthur helps her heal.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I have no claim over Inception - that's all Chris Nolan. Inception just makes my brain turn in a thousand directions and, after seeing it three times, my mind _still_ won't stop centering around it and I'm just dying to talk about the movie with anyone. Fics are the result of all this thought and passion. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, good/bad/happy/sad!

* * *

Ariadne hates that she has to return to real life after the inception, because she _can't_. It's almost impossible for her to sit down and sketch buildings and landscapes that follow the laws of physics. Now that she knows what else is out there, what else is possible, it's just not enough.

She also hates that she can't speak to a single member of the group. Ariadne doesn't even know where they went. Cobb, she knows, is home, but she hasn't an idea where his home actually is. Eames could be anywhere. Arthur had a wide range of connections. Yusuf seemed to disappear completely. She had no need or desire to contact Saito. And for all Robert Fischer knew, she was just a figment of his imagination.

There were times, usually when she sat down to sketch but found herself unable to concentrate, that she wondered if it was all a dream. Those thoughts always forced her to reach for her totem, and she always gasped when it tipped. She was never completely sure if her gasp was in relief or disappointment. Usually, she assumed it was both.

Somehow, she manages to move through her days. She just feels like there's something missing.

Her only connection to this experience is in Paris, she realizes. She's in Professor Miles' class, wondering if she can ask him questions, when he clears his throat.

"Ariadne?"

She looks at him, and her eyebrows shoot up when she realizes that all the rest of her classmates have disappeared. She glances at her watch and reaches for her totem simultaneously.

"Yes, class ended twelve minutes ago," Miles is saying, "and no, you're not in a dream."

She nods, but desperately wants to test her totem just to be sure. But she knows that she can't do that without raising concern, so she decides the best course of action is to retrace her steps. She'd woken that morning, gone to a café for a coffee, tried to sketch, day dreamed instead, and then crossed the bridge to the college.

No, she wasn't in a dream. She knew exactly how she ended up there. She wasn't quite sure what the lecture had centered on, but she wasn't in a dream, and that was comforting enough.

"Ariadne, please, come down," Miles says, and while he asks her kindly enough, she knows that she has no other option. She stands in front of his desk, her weight on one leg, full attention on the professor.

"Is there something wrong?" she prompts after several moments of silence.

Miles still doesn't have an immediate answer, just looks at her face intently.

"You tell me," he finally responds, and Ariadne feels defensive.

"Tell you what?"

Miles smiles at her and shuffles several papers on his desk. "These are your last several assignments," he tells her, and prompts her to look at them. "Go on. Have a look. Tell me what you see."

Ariadne cautiously reaches for them and studies each picture. She sees her drawings, skilled, precise, detailed, just like any other assignment she's completed. She checks the grades for each one, all high marks, as usual. She glances over his comments, a mix of "well done"s and "very nice"s.

She shakes her head. "I don't understand. These don't look any different from my other assignments."

"And you're sure about that? Nothing different in your style, or your… your flair?"

She looks at Miles before licking her lips and searching through her assignments. She flips through them, one by one, shaking her head at the end.

"Nothing," she declares, and while she knows that Miles could be saying that her work is much improved, his tone is proof that he feels something is for the worse. "I actually thought these were exactly what you were asking for in the assignments," she adds.

Miles nods. "And they are, Ariadne. These are fine pieces of work," he tells her, his face open and voice sincere. "They're exactly what I was looking for and the type of work I wish the majority of my students would create." He pauses to look her in the eye. "But they're not you."

Ariadne starts at the insinuation that she would _cheat_ her way through school, but Miles cuts her off before she is able to object.

"This is clearly your work, Ariadne. Impeccable, precise. But you are one of my best and brightest because of your ability to dazzle," he says, and Ariadne isn't any happier with this explanation. "From you, I never expect the _typical_ answer. I never know what to expect when I receive your assignments. That's part of the _fun_ in my job. Seeing this ability to go beyond expectations."

"Are you saying you'd rather I defy the laws of physics? Change all the rules?"

"No, of course not."

She takes a breath, reminding herself to be patient and respectful. Miles is her elder and her mentor, and she can't afford to be short-tempered.

Miles shakes his head. "I worried about recommending you to Dom. He said-"

"You've spoken to Cobb?" Ariadne interrupts, and even she can tell that she lights up at the mention of his name. Miles looks at her for a long moment before nodding.

"He is my son-in-law. We do have regular contact."

Ariadne rolls her eyes at his answer. "Of course." She sobers a bit before forging ahead with her second question, pushing it out of her mouth before she can determine whether it's proper. "Did Dom tell you about the-"

Miles holds up a hand. "Don't. Stop. I don't want to know. I can't know. He's told me nothing specific, nothing other than a vague comment. He said that there were some unexpected circumstances and you were involved."

She stares at Miles. "That's really all he said?"

Her mind races when Miles nods. That leaves open ground in every direction. Miles could have an idea of what occurred, but it is more likely that he has no idea. Ariadne doesn't know if the world is off her shoulders or back on, twice as heavy.

"But please do remember, Ariadne, that although I may not know the details of your involvement, I still have eyes. And I can see that you're no longer that sparkling youth. Your grand schemes, Ariadne, that's what made you exciting." Miles sighs and clasps his hands. "Come back to reality. Your reality."

He smiles at her and Ariadne forces a smile. He looks back down at his papers and she understands that she's dismissed.

His words echo in her head as she walks back to her apartment. Come back to her reality.

She can barely sleep that night because her brain does not stop moving. By dawn, her eyes are red and her head hurts from thought and lack of sleep.

She realizes that she doesn't even know what her reality is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** So many reviews, favorites, and alerts! You guys are awesome - I hope you'll enjoy this! I still don't own _Inception_, but am always up for some _Inception _conversation (or, you know, squealing, whatever). And this chapter goes up right now in honor of my finding out that Joseph Gordon-Levitt will be at my school in October (!). I'd love to hear your thoughts, good/bad/happy/sad!

* * *

She's trying to work on her latest assignment. She's trying, but her brain is providing her with very few concrete ideas. Most of her plans are muddled, mixtures of her experiences with reality and dreams. She fights her way through half a dozen sketches, a couple of them with useful aspects, but the rest simply trash.

Her bishop is telling her that in this world, she can't have an endless staircase, but her mind simply isn't sure that her bishop is reality.

She stares at her sketch pad for several minutes before tossing it on her desk and grabbing a jacket. She goes to her favorite café and orders her usual, planting herself at her favorite table and sitting. She doesn't have a book, or paper, or any way to do work should inspiration strike. So she sits there and loses herself.

Ariadne wonders why she's never taken the time to people watch before. Dreams taught her to pay more attention to those around her, those pieces of subconscious. Apparently, the people around her now are not figments, but living, breathing, individual creatures. But the experience is similar, if not as exciting. Real people weren't as likely to provide interesting pieces of subconscious information and they also weren't as likely to attack.

But they were certainly refreshing. In addition to the woman in bright yellow walking a dog, there are all sorts of individuals, unique in their own right. A young man, covered in tattoos. An older woman, dressed elegantly, yet looking at home on the quaint Parisian street.

And then there were glimpses that made her question reality. Like that man who looks so familiar, so much like Arthur. Same style of suit, same hair style and color, same clean shave. Same stride, same carefully blank face. He even has similar personality traits. He doesn't look directly at anyone as he walks, moving purposefully…

Toward Ariadne's table.

She blinks once and then stares, fingering her bishop. This is reality. She knows it is.

And Arthur is standing before her.

"May I sit?" he asks, and she needlessly gestures to the empty chair at her table. He pulled out the chair before she even gave him permission.

"Of course," Ariadne still replies, feeling the need for excessive formality. She is burning with questions and it's taking years of self-control and learned distance to prevent her inquiries from rushing out. She knows that this isn't the place to do it; not in public, in a café, in the middle of Paris.

"How are you?" he asks, and she's surprised to see him take a sip of a drink. He must have purchased it before moving to sit with her, and Ariadne's mind starts to work in overdrive. If he had time to purchase, how long was he there? Has he been in Paris today? Yesterday? All these months?

She sips her tea before answering. "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"

The formality makes her physically ache. She's tense from holding back her thoughts and her heart is beating heavily. She can barely breathe. She hates that they're forced to speak this way. Especially after what they've been through together.

Ariadne's not sure what she expected from a reunion with the group, but it involved more recognition of their last project. It involved a bit more happiness, some teasing, maybe a hug and peck on the cheek.

"I'm fine as well. It's good to see you," Arthur replies, and Ariadne wants to applaud. He's acting so normal, so casual, sipping his drink and glancing around at the scenery. He acts like nothing is different, and Ariadne wonders if that's how he truly feels about their situation.

A lump forms in her throat when she thinks about that, but she knows that he can't simply think their relationship is the same.

"Have some free time?" Arthur asks, and Ariadne nods.

"A bit. I was attempting one of my projects for school, but my inspiration was lacking. So I thought I would take a break."

"Smart decision," Arthur approves.

Ariadne doesn't think she can handle it anymore. She's about to make an excuse to leave, to get far away from this dream - no, not even a dream or a nightmare, more like a lie - between the two of them, when Arthur looks at her.

"Perhaps I could offer you some feedback?"

She licks her lips and nods, leading him back to her apartment. They make some more painful small talk along the way, although Arthur still appears comfortable with the situation. He's the one who keeps the conversation flowing, commenting on his love for Paris, the building structures, the endless opportunity the city offers.

At her apartment, Ariadne needs them to drop the charade.

"So why are you here?"

Arthur raises his eyebrows, and Ariadne makes a face at his faux surprise.

"Why are you here? Why now? Why haven't I seen you in months? Where have you been?"

The questions are spilling out of her mouth and she can't stop them. She also doesn't want to. If Arthur shows up out of the blue, Ariadne feels that she has the right to try to understand what is happening.

He looks at her, still calm and put together as ever, as he clearly decides how to answer her. She wishes that his answers would burst as spontaneously as her questions, but Ariadne knows that Arthur is careful, planned, cautious. He won't tell her anything that she should not know.

"You know why you haven't seen me," he finally answers, sitting down at the little table in her living room. She sits across from him, focusing intently on his face. "It's dangerous for the team to be together after a job, especially to the level our last job took us."

Ariadne raises an eyebrow. "If we did it right, Fischer shouldn't have any idea that someone reworked his ideas. The only people who should know are the group of us."

"You'd be surprised what information powerful people can find," Arthur replies. "There's still a price out for Cobb's head. Mine, too, really. We failed our first job with Saito."

"I thought he paid that off."

"He did," Arthur agrees. "Doesn't mean they still don't want to punish us."

Ariadne blinks, takes in that information. She's not sure which direction to take the conversation. She wants to know what that means, what all this means for the group, and for Cobb and Arthur, and for the two of them at that moment. But she also wants to know why he's there, especially now that she knows the danger has not been completely eliminated.

"So where have you been?" She decides this question is the safest to ask. It's also one of the questions she's most curious to have answered.

"The States," he says after a beat. He takes a deep breath. "I was with Cobb and the kids most of the time."

Ariadne raises her eyebrows. "Cobb's kids?"

"Uncle Arthur," he says with a little smile, and Ariadne feels like she's seeing him in a new light.

"I didn't realize you and Cobb were so close. I thought you were just…"

"Business partners?"

She nods and feels foolish that she didn't see more into their relationship, but Arthur is shaking his head.

"When we work, we're business partners in every sense. Outside work, we're friends."

"Close friends, evidently," Ariadne says, and Arthur gives that little smile again.

"Phillipa's godfather."

Ariadne swallows, her brain working in overdrive. All of this information is throwing her for a loop. One part of her mind recognizes that Arthur hasn't answered all of her questions, specifically her most pressing. The first question she asked him. She thinks that he's trying to throw her off, and as much as she's interested in learning about Arthur's personal life and how he's been spending his months, she's practical and must focus.

She crosses her arms and leans forward onto the table. "So why are you here now?"

Arthur's face doesn't change, but Ariadne senses that he's frustrated.

He's silent for a long moment, staring at his clasped hands, before he sighs and locks eyes with her. "We made a mistake," he admits.

Ariadne immediately feels cold and her stomach clenches.

"Not with the Fischer case!" Arthur amends, and Ariadne breaths a sigh of relief. "No, we made a mistake with…" he trails off, and Ariadne realizes she can recall very few moments where Arthur searched for words. "We made a mistake with you," he manages.

She feels that clenching of her stomach again and her eyes widen. "I don't understand," is all she can think to say, and it fits the situation best.

He reaches across the table and lays a hand on her shaking ones. "There's nothing wrong with you," Arthur says, and Ariadne feels a sense of calm at his assuredness. "Nothing physically or emotionally. But the group of us made a mistake in how we handled the backlash of the case."

Ariadne stares at him, not sure what to say.

"At the end of a job, we all part. We can't attract attention and we need time to regroup ourselves. But your case is different. After a first job," he explains, "especially one so taxing, you need people to talk with and recover with. People who understand, at least on some level, what you're going through."

Ariadne shakes her head. "How was I supposed to find someone who would understand?"

"Exactly," Arthur says, and gives a little shrug. "We were foolish. We weren't thinking. We should have thought back to our first jobs and realized that you needed someone."

He's sincere when he's speaking, and Ariadne knows what he's saying is logical, but she still bristles at the idea of _needing_ anyone.

"Being alone after your first mission, or even your first several, gives you too much time to think. It blurs the distinction between reality and dreams," he continues, and Ariadne's eyes narrow.

That speech sounded a little familiar.

She sits up in her chair. "Did Professor Miles send you?"

Arthur's eyebrows shoot up just a smidgen. "No one sent me. Miles did ask me if I would stop by and see how you're doing." He pauses. "Miles cares, Ariadne. He worries. He doesn't know enough about the situation and just wanted some help."

She nods because she knows that Arthur is telling the truth. Miles does know and care. He certainly worries. But that part in her, the independent part, the side of her that sent her to Paris for school, the aspect of her mind that decided to work on the Inception Case, screams that she's an independent woman who doesn't need patronized.

"It's not a weakness to need people," Arthur says, and his voice is soft.

"The others don't need anyone," she objects, but Arthur shakes his head.

"We all need people, especially after a case, and especially after the case we just completed. But we've all had so much more experience than you have," he tells her. "We can recover with the help of other people, not just each other." He resituates himself in his chair. "Cobb went home to his family. He spends day and night with them. And I'm being very literal about that. Most nights, he doesn't sleep; he's just sitting there, watching Phillipa and James. Me?" He points at himself. "Why did I go with Cobb? Why did I stop by my sister's place? I needed people."

"Eames? Yusuf?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Eames needs people no matter the situation. He's somewhere, gallivanting around. Yusuf has people as well."

Ariadne just nods in response. She understands. She knows that he knows that she understands.

"But while we're all able to heal ourselves with others, you need us. People who understand. Especially after an inception. You went in deep, Ariadne." Arthur runs a hand over his face. "You weren't supposed to go in at all, and instead you spent years inside a dream."

The two of them are silent for a moment.

"So that's why you're here?" Ariadne asks. "To talk to me?"

"To help you heal," he clarifies. "You need someone who understands."

She scrutinizes him. "It sounds like you're speaking from experience."

There's barely a change in his face, but Ariadne can tell that he's closed himself off from her, put himself on guard at her comment.

"I am," he says, and his voice isn't soft and comforting anymore. He's distant and closed off, and Ariadne bites her lip before spilling out an apology.

Arthur takes a deep breath and gives her a close-lipped smile. "No, no need to be sorry. I shouldn't have reacted that way. A significant part of your healing is to ask questions and search for answers. How else will you make sense of what happened?"

He sounds matter of fact about it, but steers the conversation in a different direction. They look at her project for school and try to improve the building. He stays for a couple hours, and after he leaves, Ariadne can't stop thinking about their time together and how he closed off their conversation. He said she could, she _should_, ask questions, but with the way he closed off, she wonders what questions are actually off-limits.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I'm at that dreadful point in late August where I have to remember that writing is not my job but school _is_. My classes start tomorrow, my student worker position starts tomorrow, my activities have already started up. And thus real life begins after four months of summer. I'm still writing and updating, just perhaps not as consistently, at least not at first. But I can't disappear entirely, because, hey, three (THREE) of my friends haven't seen Inception (so I think I must go see it again, of course!), and Joseph Gordon-Levitt is still appearing at my school. So there's inspiration abounding. Just maybe not as much time.

Your reviews, alerts, and favorites keep me going. Thank you to everyone for your support of this story! Like always, I don't own Inception, but Chris Nolan has had a crazy influence on my thoughts, so there's that. I'd love to hear your thoughts, good/bad/happy/sad!

* * *

She expects to see him the next morning, early, right after she wakes. She slows her routine after there is no indication that Arthur is anywhere close. She glances at the people walking the streets in the early morning, carefully looks at the café customers before choosing a table.

Ariadne fingers the bishop in her pocket. She _knows_ that the day before was not a dream. Everything about it felt real. Arthur felt real. She could remember every detail.

And she'd tested her bishop several times over the course of the day, just to be certain.

But now Arthur has disappeared and it leaves Ariadne wondering why he never said he would see her the next day, or sometime soon, or anytime at all. He'd very much implied that he would stay.

Unless he wasn't really there. Ariadne takes a deep breath, before calmly pulling out her bishop and setting it on the table in front of her. She plays with it a little, tilting it, as if the bishop is a toy she carries on any given day. Then, after taking a sip of her tea, she lightly pushes it with her finger.

Ariadne watches as the bishop tilts, hangs for a moment, and then falls. She lets out a breath, although she's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed, as always. And then she tests the bishop twice more, taking care to look as if she's just toiling with an old chess piece.

Reality, apparently.

"Not a dream?"

Ariadne glances up, surprised, when she hears a voice from above her. Arthur stands in front of her, one hand in his pocket, and his face is expressionless.

"Just tested mine," he continues, his voice casual, as if dreams and totems and reality were everyday small talk for the rest of Paris. "Not a dream."

"Yeah," Ariadne says once she finds her voice. She clears her throat. "Mine neither."

The two of them sit in silence, Arthur sipping a drink that he apparently showed up with, just like the day before. Ariadne can't think of anything to fill the silence, but she wonders if she has to. Arthur looks pleased enough, glancing around the café, eyes flitting from person to person.

He doesn't look confused. He seems to be able to distinguish reality. Or at least believe his totem.

Ariadne clears her throat once more. "So why did you test yours?" she asks, and Arthur turns to her, eyebrows lifted slightly.

She thinks that he's genuinely puzzled by her question, which just confuses her more. "Why did you test your totem?" Ariadne clarifies, and Arthur gives her a look (one of those few, precious, spur of the moment looks).

"Do you still need to finish your assignment?" he asks, and smoothly stands, offering her a hand. She takes it and pulls herself out from her chair, lost in the moment with the sudden change.

She nods in affirmation, but cannot stop staring at him. She understands his change in conduct very clearly, although she doesn't understand why Arthur doesn't want to answer. Ariadne wonders if this is a question that she shouldn't ask, but that conclusion enrages her and she wants to forge on moreso than before.

"Is there a place you'd like to work today?"

He looks relaxed and Ariadne is frustrated that she can't decode him.

"The library?" she suggests.

"Some place more private?" he replies, and Ariadne is surprised.

She thinks for a moment before nodding and walking away from the café. "I know just were to go," she informs him, and she tries to sound sure of herself, even though she's a little unsettled with the way he's walking a bit behind her.

"Are you going to tell me where we're headed?" he asks, and Ariadne thinks that she can hear amusement in his voice.

She thinks for a moment before shaking her head and glancing at him. She smiles a bit, letting him know that she's teasing, and her heart starts to beat twice as fast when he rolls his eyes and winks at her. She has to remind herself to keep breathing, but now more than ever, she wants to test her totem, because Arthur, the Arthur she knows? Doesn't joke like that. He has a less serious side, even a teasing side, but not a silly, eye rolling, winking side.

She jumps a little when she feels Arthur's hands on her shoulders, steering her, and it's only when she shakes her head and looks down that she realizes that she almost walked straight into a woman walking a dog.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asks, and now he's walking beside her

Ariadne nods. "Just day dreaming a little."

"Appreciate those. Eventually they'll go away as well."

She doesn't respond because she's not quite sure what to say. She decides not to think about it too much and just leads Arthur into the college. They walk through the halls and Ariadne knows the moment that Arthur recognizes their intended destination.

To his credit, he doesn't ask questions, just starts to glance around more carefully and walk more slowly.

When they arrive at Miles' classroom, Ariadne leads him down into the front of the room, at the chalkboard. She looks up at the rows of seats and feels a sense of empowerment. She knows that she couldn't do this, stand in front of others and lecture. She'd much rather be doing than teaching. But she likes how this feels, and wonders if it's why professors keep going.

"Miles isn't here?" Arthur asks.

Ariadne glances at the desk, covered in papers and pencils and knickknacks.

"He'll be in and out, I'm sure," she tells Arthur. "But he always leaves his classroom open as an option for work. Sometimes inspiration arrives best from the place you learn."

"Very true," Arthur agrees. "Although you should never derive inspiration exactly from the source."

Ariadne isn't sure if he means to apply that to dreams or to her school project as well.

"I figured we could work on the physics of the project. The abstracts that are concrete," she says, redirection the conversation to their task. She moves to the chalkboard and starts to throw equations up, numbers and letters intermingling.

Part of her is surprised by how versed Arthur is in physics, but another part of her thinks that all things are natural to him. She wonders if she struggles with anything. She knows that it's a foolish thought - didn't she see him miss a critical detail with the Fischer case? - but he handles himself so well that she wonders how often he's truly caught by surprise.

They work diligently for an hour, and Ariadne gets lost in the very real feeling of equation solving, working with something concrete. It's why she chose architecture in the first place; she could create things, tangible things, see the results. She likes the feeling. She likes remembering how a love for her trade feels.

And then that nagging part of her wonders if it's all too good to be true. She tries to erase the doubt from her mind. She remembers every detail of this. There are no projections. This feels too real to be fake.

But she finds herself reaching for her totem anyway. It's becoming a habit, a nagging desire _just to make sure_ that what she's feeling is real.

Arthur is staring at the board, chalk in his hand, running through various equations to solve the riddle. Ariadne is sure that he's not paying her attention. She can simply tilt it on the desk and be done with it, sure that what's happening here is concrete and will last.

She's just set her bishop on the table when Arthur says, "Don't do it."

She looks up, startled, because his back is still to her, although he's craned his neck a bit and can probably see her out of the corner of his eye.

"Do what?" she asks, caught in a moment of panic, although she can't pin down why she's so worried that Arthur will disapprove of her or her actions.

"You've already tested your totem. You remember every detail of the day," Arthur replies, turning around to face her fully. "There's no need."

"You tested yours earlier."

Arthur nods. "Sometimes, when I see people testing theirs and I'm not sure why, I like to test mine. To be on the safe side."

"And I just want to be on the safe side," Ariadne replies, but Arthur shakes his head.

"Testing your totem can too easily become an addiction," he says, and Ariadne looks at him in disbelief.

"An addiction?"

"An addiction. A disease," he adds. "Testing your totem can blur the distinction between reality and dreams."

Ariadne shuts her eyes, trying to process. "We have totems to tell us that we're in reality."

"And how many times do you test yours? Even when it's told you once that you're not in a dream?"

She doesn't answer, but she thinks she doesn't have to.

"I saw you playing with your totem at the café. Of course, to anyone else, you were just mindlessly toying with a chess piece. But I know your totem, and more than that, I know you."

Ariadne wants to object that he doesn't know her, just knows one aspect of her, professionally, but he continues before she can get a word in.

"I went through the same thing. And you just can't believe reality sometimes, can you?" He looks at her intently. "And then you start to question your totem and whether or not your totem is behaving realistically. And then you start to think yourself in circles. Suddenly," Arthur says, and spreads his arms, "you aren't sure if your totem is reality or not. And that defeats the purpose of having one at all."

She takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She's not angry. She's not sure what she feels. A little overwhelmed.

"Are you saying that I shouldn't use my totem?" she asks, and the question sounds silly to her.

"Not at all," Arthur objects. "Your totem is necessary, after what you've experienced, and especially if you want to continue work in the dream field."

Ariadne's mind races at that comment. She'd never considered mind work as a plausible career option. But Arthur is making it work. Cobb made it work, although Ariadne thinks that he'll never return to that field again. Eames excels in it for a profession. Yusuf has found a place. Why shouldn't she?

"It's a delicate balance," Arthur continues. "This divide between reality and dreams. You can't question it too much or else you'll be caught in a never-ending circle."

She licks her lips. "I'll be like Mal." Her voice is quiet as she says it and she's not sure how Arthur will react.

He stares at her. "Yes," he replies, his voice steady, matter of fact. "You'll be exactly like Mal."

She glances away but can still feel his gaze. She knows what happened to Mal.

"But how do you know that the totem is correct?" she asks, and she can't bring her volume up to more than a whisper.

"It is," he says, and his voice is solid and steady.

"But how do you know?" she presses, partly because she wants to be sure and partly because she wants to know how _Arthur_ can be so sure.

"You have to believe it. You have to believe in your totem as your connection to reality."

She turns from him, examining her fingernails. She just had to trust that her totem - that chess piece she made by hand - told the truth. She takes a deep breath because it sounds easy, but her question of the truth isn't.

"Force yourself not to test," Arthur says. "You have to stop yourself. Trust in this feeling. Reality _feels _different, Ariadne. You have to remember this feeling."

His voice is more intense, not exactly pleading, but as close as Arthur would get to it. She can't think of anything to say; she's trying to just focus on her breathing. Arthur pauses for a moment as well before reaching for his piece of chalk and moving to the board.

Ariadne blinks and tries to focus, eyeing the letters and numbers in front of her.

Her attention is interrupted when she hears feet tapping down the stairs, and she turns to see Professor Miles walking down, smiling.

"Arthur, good to see you again," he says. "And Ariadne, a pleasure as always." He moves to his desk to grab papers, shuffling them together. Professor Miles and Arthur make polite small talk, which Ariadne finds a bit odd, considering that Arthur is the godfather to Phillipa. But for all their polite talk, nothing about the situation feels out of the ordinary. Just two friends who haven't seen each other quickly catching up.

"I'm just in here to grab some assignments I've yet to grade," Miles says.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Started taking work home with you?"

"Oh, just a few papers," Miles replies, waving away the comment. "Nothing too extraordinary."

Miles shuffles his papers and moves toward the stairs, stopping to glance at the equations and drawings on the board before he leaves.

"Interesting tactic to fulfill the assignment," he concludes after a few moments. He turns to Ariadne and smiles. "It's exactly what I'm looking for."

Ariadne watches as he walks up the stairs and leaves the classroom. She sighs and turns back to the board, staring at her equations before erasing them and picking up a piece of chalk. She can't bring herself to look at Arthur as she says, "Let's start over from the beginning."


End file.
